Illusively Infinite: Nothing
by ThatMandalorianChick
Summary: Nothing. He thinks that name suits him now more than ever. Not Patrick, not Patty. Nothing. Just plain nothing, with a hurting heart and an inability to trust. The first chapter of Illusively Infinite from Patrick's POV.


Asleep. That was the name of that bloody song. Patrick hated it. Hated it with a burning passion. It reminded him too much of Charlie. Charlie who was his almost-brother. The song plays over and over again in his head. Patrick cringes as it just repeats itself in his head, his messed-up mind. He'd listened to that stupid mixtape that Charlie had made for him more times than he could remember, and now he couldn't get it out of his head.

He wanted to scream, to howl at the sky. This was a different pain to what he had ever felt before, this was agonising. And it was all Sam's fault. He really didn't want to blame Sam, he loved her, but she was the reason all of this had happened. Patrick knows Sam hates herself now and that she's desperately trying to make amends with Charlie's family as well as himself. He couldn't bear to look at her let alone talk to her now. So, Patrick thought that the best solution would be to move out temporarily. And drink away all the sorrow.

Regret is a small word with a big meaning. Patrick sits himself down next to the brick wall, it's covered with graffiti and its cold against his back. He's been blind and a fool, and now he can't leave the past behind. And neither can Sam. That's the only thing that keeps him going-it's all Sam's fault. He knows deep down that he's created a rift between them and he regrets it. Yet, there is relief in knowing that he won't have to talk to her for a while.

Patrick unfolds the piece of yellow paper in his shaking hands. It's slightly crumpled but it's not beyond repair. Patrick brings himself to read it.

_Dear Patrick,_

_I haven't spoken to you in quite a while, so I thought that now would be the time to start. I am writing you this letter because I have nobody to talk to now that you and Sam have gone on summer vacation. I now I'm not literally talking to you, but it feels like it, so just bear with me._

_Yesterday, Sam sent me a text. It didn't sound like her at all, because she always uses proper grammar and what was sent to me was particularly nasty. If you could ask her to ring me that would be great, if not I'll just wait for you to get back._

_I'm telling you all this because those words sent to me really hurt. A lot. I miss you two a lot, and I just want you to know that I'm thinking about what happened between us a lot._

_That aside, I can tell you that Brad came over the other day asking for you. I told him you were on vacation and that you would be back in a couple of weeks. He seemed very urgent. I think he might be pregnant. Sorry, I just had to say that. It seemed quite hilarious in my head actually._

_I'm making you a new mixtape, I'm so bored without you two. I'll see you soon though. Catch up when you get back. Send my love to Sam._

_So utterly bored,_

_Charlie._

Patrick just stares at the note paper in his hands. He had received it two weeks ago but never opened it. Regret is a small word with a big meaning. Sam. What the hell had the stupid girl done to him? Patrick knew she would never have done that to him, but Charlie had mentioned that she did. Unless someone had framed her, but even then, that would be seemingly impossible, because Sam isn't usually very easily counterfeited.

Whatever she had or hadn't done, it was now just impossible for Patrick to even think about Sam. She was his step-sister, but she didn't even feel close to him at all. She wasn't even blood. How could he have even ever trusted the bitch? Sure, she seemed fun and harmless but apparently she was more than what she seemed to be. Stupid, fucking, Sam. Charlie genuinely loved her so she decides to treat him like nothing. Patrick knows he will never be able to forgive her.

But then, before Charlie, Sam was the only person Patrick knew he could trust with his life. He trusted her more than Brad, more than his parents, more than anyone. Maybe even more than Charlie. Or himself.

The funeral was the worst part of it all. Not only did he have to face Charlie's dead body, but he had to face Sam. He tried not to meet her eyes every time she gazed at him with that stupid concerned look on her pale face. But then, everyone else was also giving him concerned looks. Probably because of how he looked.

Patrick noticed his physical appearance. He looked like a freaking homeless man. His hair was greasy and in tangled nests of dirty black. He suddenly realised how tired he was, and how heavy he felt. How depressed he actually was. The alcohol he had been consuming for the last week or so hung desperately to his clothing, making him smell like a portable cocktail bar. He was a complete and horrendous mess. Patrick was no longer Patrick, no longer himself.

He was led into the little wooden chapel built next to the cemetery and seated right near Charlie's coffin at the very front. The preacher man stood up and spoke verses and sang hymns into the microphone and his monotonous voice echoed the people filled room. It made Patrick want to vomit. Charlie's mother and his father spoke slowly about Charlie's childhood, telling greatly exaggerated stories and things Patrick really didn't have time to hear. Candace, Charlie's sister spoke next. She spoke of Charlie with love and a low tone of bitterness in her crystal voice.

Patrick stood up abruptly and walked quickly down the aisle and out of the quiet chapel. He ignored all the horrified stares he was given and shoved off Sam's hand as she tried to cling onto his arm. He needed to get away, he needed to think. Actually, he didn't want to think at all, but it was inevitable. He lent carefully against the wooden slats of the outside of the chapel and listened to the muffled voices coming from inside. It was still Candace speaking, he could tell by the high-pitch in the silky feminine voice.

Patrick let a strangled sob erupt from his throat but blinked away the oncoming tears. He buried his head in his sweating hands and bit his lip to stop the uncontrollable sobs. Nothing. He thinks that name suits him now more than ever. Not Patrick, not Patty. Nothing. Just plain _nothing,_ with a hurting heart and an inability to trust. Patrick calms himself down and walks back to the chapel's door. He sees Sam standing up at the lectern, her arms shaking slightly at her sides. He pushes open the door and stands quietly at the back of the room.

Her words catch in her throat but she soon adjusts and finally Patrick realises what she is saying. It's the poem, that bloody poem that Charlie gave to him for his last Secret Santa gift. His breath hitches in his throat as she listens to her recite carefully. He catches her eye and she smiles at him and he surprises himself by smiling back. He quickly wipes the lopsided grin off of his face.

She turns her gaze and continues to speak the poem in rhythm. Patrick can tell by that look on her face that she's feeling something he hadn't felt in a while. She's feeling alive. He doesn't know why though. How can she feel alive when she caused this mess? He knows Charlie wouldn't care, but he does. But what is the point? He's not Charlie, he's nothing. Absolutely nothing.


End file.
